Road Not Taken
by SilverArtemisKO
Summary: How can she have loved him for all these years without saying anything? The Truth. What is he going to do now? The Dare. How are they going to end up? The After. Three chapters. JJ and Reid character insights after the finale, and what happens afterwards.
1. The Truth

**A/N: I have tons to say- about the finale, Jeid and my other story, 'The Edge'. But I'll finish writing this one first. Hope you all enjoy. Please drop a line if you have feedback. **

* * *

'Jennifer, truth or dare?', he said.

What would he have said if I'd answered 'dare'?

This is of no consequence at all, yet this is what I am thinking about. What if I took a dare? Knowing Spencer, he'd just work around it cleverly, say something like, 'I dare you to tell me the truth.' But what if he gave me an actual ridiculous dare? An image flashes before my eyes- me standing on the bar counter at Rossi's wedding, doing an impromptu karaoke of 'Don't Stop Believin''. I feel a mad giggle bubble up inside me. I swallow it down, hard.

I am not all right.

I can feel it- feel myself slipping. My thoughts are haphazard, nonsense at one moment and blinding in their clarity the next, such a strange mixture of wild fiction and even wilder truth it almost gives me vertigo. My hands are balled up, my focus not on now but on before, on memories, possibilities, right and wrong, an unbelievably messy tangle.

I take a deep breath. Steal a glance at Will on the driving seat. He sees me looking, flashes me a smile, and concentrates on driving again.

Will.

I lean back on my seat and close my eyes.

* * *

We are home. The boys are asleep. I go through the routine. Change my clothes, brush my teeth, put on skin cream, get into bed, kiss Will. Listen to his rhythmic breathing as he falls asleep.

Then it's only dark, only the ticking of a clock, only me and my thoughts, alone.

'Do you mean it?', Spencer asked.

The question sounded so simple. The answer options too- yes? Or no?

Yet, how do you answer that?

How do you answer that without _explaining_, without letting him know that he is the truth, but so is everything else? My life for the past decade, my home, my marriage with Will, my sons- it's not built on the base of a lie, but simply another happiness? Because that's what you do when you're not brave enough to go down the rocky road, you find another path to walk and settle for whatever happiness you find there. What ifs are best buried, best stored away in a neat little dark corner of the gigantic hedge maze of life, best not thought about. And when they're pulled out in the open with a yank, everything crumbles.

How do you put all that into words?

How do you leave the answer at a mere 'yes'?

'Always', I told Spencer. Truth is, I don't know since when.

I just know that in the days after I got to know our Redskins game was supposed to be a date I looked at him, really looked, and his eyes, his eyes reflected wonder. Not infatuation, not obsession for me, but unabashed wonder. And that pierced my heart.

I just know when I saw him being tortured on video- Tobias Hankel, the religious nut- I thought, 'I let him go and this is the result. I'll never lose him again.'

I know that seeing everyone else mess with him- him being the youngest, him being the way he is- I always felt surges of affection and protectiveness. I know he learned to lean on me.

I know we became friends- with his incessant talks of anything and everything at the slightest encouragement, yet his ability to listen without judgment and verdicts when I had something to share; with his quirks and my affection; with him confident yet vulnerable; with me reaching out time and again and always, always finding him there.

I know what I thought in the split-second before I rushed out to kiss Will, which door I was closing. Co-workers can't date. Spencer never said anything. He was deep into his struggle with drugs, losses. What was I in his life? I didn't even have figured out what he was to me. Why think about it when Will was right there, waiting?

Among all the crazy in my life, Will was one rock of steady and sane. So I savored it. I let myself love it, love him; liked having my job and and my other life running along in neat, separate lines, uninterrupted by one another. I know what I saw in Spencer's eyes when I officially told everyone about Will. But he didn't say anything. So I told myself not to think about it. And then I was pregnant.

I know when I had Henry that Spencer had to be the godfather. He needed to be in Henry's life.

I know when I finally decided to marry Will, I meant my vows. Feelings are out of your hands, but people you can choose. And if those people are as great as Will, you'll have genuine affection for them. I chose Will. I chose to build on my safe happiness.

I know that over the next years, I got closer and closer with Spencer. I also got better at training myself, controlling my feelings, allowing only what's right. I loved Will. I did. So what did it mean when I felt a sharp pang of jealousy when Morgan speculated Spence had a girlfriend? It meant I was pissed that he didn't tell me, his best friend. Not like it would bother me if he had someone, of course not.

What did my unbearable frustration mean when Maeve died and Spencer locked him inside his apartment for days? It meant I was sad not to be able to help him. It clearly wasn't the fact that he was treating me like everyone else, not even letting _me_ in, me!

When I saw him play with my sons, showing them magic tricks, making them laugh effortlessly, why did my heart twist inexplicably? For him, of course. I wanted him to be happy, have a family. It was sad that he didn't. My heart wasn't twisting for me, for the what-if whispers in my head. No.

What did my choking apprehension mean when he got shot? When he was exposed to anthrax? Why did my world threaten to crumble? It was because I didn't want to lose my best friend. You're allowed to feel that way for your friend. And that's all he was.

But something broke inside me when he was in prison. I thought my luck had run out and I really was going to lose him this time. And then, during those restless days and sleepless nights, I knew. I knew what I once felt was buried deep, deep enough for me to be happy, but it wasn't gone. It was never really gone.

We got him out of prison. I still remember standing there, holding him tightly, letting myself feel things I never did before, thinking, 'just here, just now, just in this moment'. Then it was back to normal, or as normal it can be with our job and our life, but coming so close to losing him had shaken me, and now I had cracks.

My carefully built layers showed wear and tear, untrained feelings seeping through, feelings that didn't know their place in that tightly shut vault within me. Feelings like the skip of my heart when he came in and sat beside me; like the imperceptible shake of my hand just after it has touched his; like the spreading warmth inside me when we were locked in an embrace- his arms tight around my waist and back, securing me against his tall frame, my arm around his neck, his hair brushing my skin, and us so painfully close; like the lingering melancholy in me afterwards.

I reined in my focus every time. I did. I'd catch myself breathing him in when he was standing next to me, then wouldn't get close to him for the rest of the day. I'd notice myself gazing at him from my desk, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, his tousled hair, piercing hazel eyes, and I'd shake myself out of it by making a beeline to Penelope's room and talking about shoes for an hour. I'd get an urge to touch him when we were talking, and sit with someone else on the jet back home.

And at home, every time he came to my mind, I'd consciously push the thought away.

Don't tell me I let it happen. Don't tell me I didn't try. Don't.

But he was gone frequently, off teaching. I missed him. I missed him so much.

And then he was taken again.

The cracks spread, and I gave up.

Emily saw me in the washroom that day and I gave her a bullshit story of Spencer, Penelope and I becoming peas in a pod after the Redskin game fiasco , but all I was thinking was, 'No. Not again. Not him. He's mine, and I won't lose him like this, no.'

And so I knew.

I thought Spencer mine.

I'd learned to love my husband, the way I should- in sickness and in health, in good days and in bad. It's logical. It's a kind, considerate, supportive, mutual, solid partnership.

But Spencer… there is no rhyme. There is no reason. There is only walking on the safe side of the line and not letting yourself think too much about the friendship you have, and the moment you can't do that there's only this all-consuming, irrational, uncontrollable_ want, _and nothing else matters any more.

It was when he got taken by the Ben's Believer's cult, on my way to rescue him, on the jet, I let myself look at that side of the line, that want. Years of looking the other way, grooming my feelings, teaching myself to react right, telling myself it's nothing, sidestepping whenever I had any uncomfortable emotions- I let all that go, and I acknowledged it.

Spencer. What he has become to me is more than I can ever explain to anyone.

And I wanted him.

I loved him.

I love him.

But I was still training myself to forget, ignore, behave, wasn't I? I was trying, trying so hard, and then yesterday happened, a crazy UnSub and his crazy truth-or-dare game happened and I had to save Spence, save myself but then I thought no, this is the end, I can't save us, and either I would die or he would so what the hell? I thought I was saying my last words to him. Why couldn't they be the truth?

Except he saved me, and we made it.

And now we're here.

How many hours have passed since I came to the bed? One? Two?

I slip out. Pick up my phone from the nightstand. Go the living room. Sit down on the couch.

My finger hovers over the name for a split second before I make the call.

He picks up on the first ring. Waits for me to talk.

I say one word.

'Yes.'

Silence. I can hear him breathing. A little uneven. A little ragged. I hear my own heartbeat. It seems so loud.

'Truth or dare, Spence?', I say.

'Truth.', he replies now.

'Do you love me?', I hear myself ask, voice shaking slightly.

Spencer doesn't hesitate. Not one second.

'I do.'


	2. The Dare

**A/N: Like I said, lots to say. But later. This was really hard to write. Hope I did Reid and JJ justice. Enjoy.**

* * *

He isn't here.

Emily says he took the day off and after the ordeal he- he and I both- went through yesterday, of course she allowed him that. She offers me the same.

'We'll call you if we get a case. You can rest at home until then.', she says.

I say I'm okay and return to my desk, murmuring something about having to reply to emails.

I stare at Spencer's empty seat. And I don't know how to feel.

Last night, after he said his truth, it was quiet- a silence not innocent, a silence thick with 'what now?'

And to that, neither of us had the answer.

So, after a few minutes, Spencer said, 'Goodnight, JJ', and hung up.

Over the years of my life, I've come to shape myself as a calm and collected kind of individual, able to put distractions aside and focus when necessary, go about my duties efficiently even when I'm not okay.

But now, today… I have never felt so lost. So torn and confused. So unanchored, unmoored, adrift.

Spence isn't here. On one hand, it's a relief, because I don't know if I could face him here and keep it together. On the other hand, his absence beats within me on a never ending painful, hollow loop; my heart screaming, 'I want to see him, I want him here, now, he has to be here.'

It's unbelievable how mighty the waves are now that I let the dam break.

Everyone is playing poker again. I excuse myself, saying I need to take care of something online for my mom. I sit staring at the monitor, seeing nothing, feeling too many things…

My phone. My phone is vibrating. I look at it and my heart leaps.

It's him.

I fumble in my hurry to pick up the call. 'Hello.'

'Truth or dare, Jennifer?'

I swallow. 'Dare.'

'Come over.'

Have I heard him right?

'Come over?'

'Yes. That's my dare. We don't have a case yet, right? Come over now. To my place. I'll wait.'

He disconnects.

I sit for a minute, thinking.

Honestly? I pretend to think. I'm not even fooling myself anymore. I knew the second he asked that I would be going.

I go and see Emily, saying I'm not feeling very well, and I'll be taking her up on her offer after all.

And then I'm down the elevator, out on the road, on a cab.

I'm going towards him.

He lives in an old apartment building. There is no buzz-in system, virtually no security. I avoid the ratty old elevator and walk up the two flights of stairs- I came as fast as I could but now that I am here, I want slow. I'm afraid.

But I'm here now. I ring the doorbell and he opens the door. I look up at his face.

And my heart wrenches so badly I want to fall onto my knees right here, screaming 'why?' until my throat is scraped raw.

I try for a smile instead. 'Hey.'

He smiles faintly, and moves to let me in.

His apartment is just as I remember it. Everything green and dark beige, books everywhere, soft blankets, a few coffee mugs. Messy, inviting, homely.

He leads me to the couch. We sit, angling our bodies to face each other.

He's still got that hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, like he's just heard some ironic joke. Looking at him, it strikes me suddenly- how different this man is from the awkward, lanky, unsure young boy I met all those years ago. His figure has filled out to be slim but graceful, his gaze is steady, he holds himself with easy self-assurance. He looks calm and poised. In front of him I feel small, I feel broken in pieces, I feel as if I'm taking steps only to fall through the floor.

'Tell me.', Spencer says, holding my eyes with his.

I don't have to ask what he means. But I can't find my voice.

'Please.', he says. 'I'd like to know.'

And I see it in his eyes now, see it in every line of his face. He's as desperately searching for answers as I am.

So I tell him. I open with 'I'm not sure, really', but I have his attention and once I start, it's hard to stop. It comes pouring out, all of it. I talk about the first time we hung out- after the Redskins non-date, me trying to compensate, me trying to establish a friendship, and being surprised with how easy it was, how much I enjoyed myself. I tell him about my relief after he was rescued from that barn, the twist in my heart seeing him in such a bad shape. I speak of the inexplicable twinges in my stomach that I had looking at him sometimes, how I'd lose track listening to him lecture about this and that, catch myself wondering about the exact color of his eyes- green? Hazel?-, how I'd be looking at him, saying something and get distracted by the way he quickly touches his tongue to his lips. I talk about my pride as I saw him grow more confident, stronger, about how he grew from a friend I took under my wing to an equal who protected me when I needed it. I never felt the slow but steady shift in dynamic until one day I suddenly saw I needed his support as much as he needed mine. I tell him how it hurt seeing him in anguish for Emily weeks after weeks and to not be able to tell him, how terrified I was when he had been angry with me when he found out, when he talked about dilaudid again. I thought I'd really messed up, thought I'd lose his friendship, and the thought had been like acid burning through me. I say to him how every time he had been in danger, I had been this close to breaking.

Years of our friendship, partnership- I pick the most meaningful moments, the moments I felt something- the moment he held Henry for the first time and talked to him softly, when he said with quivering lips 'They can't just take you away…', the moment he lifted me off the ground with happiness when I was back, the moment he casually said he memorized a baby-delivery manual as soon as I was pregnant so that he could help me if I went to labor on the field, the moment when he was explaining some science thing and looked at me with wide-eyed wonder, awed at the laws of the universe, and I felt such a rush of affection I felt weak in the knees… I talk about the times I felt there was unmistakably something between us- all those times on the jet when everyone would be asleep and we would sit talking in soft tones, and I'd find myself sharing something I'd never told anyone, confess my darkest, worst moments, and he'd listen, he'd say something wise, or ridiculous and either way it would help; all those times we found ourselves in each other's arms, drawing strength and comfort… it amazes me how many of these moments, these times there are, and how vividly I remember them. And reliving them now- intense, bright- it seems unbelievable, impossible that I was able to ignore them, brush them aside, bury them under.

And yes, I talk about my choice. I talk about Will. Why he was the way I took, how the affection I have for him has always been more than real, how he had been exactly what I needed and I had been exactly what he wanted, and so it worked, it's always worked. What I don't say but what hangs in the air is Spencer and I, we would never have worked like that, like the neat home-marriage-husband/wife-children package, unless one of us sacrificed our career, changed our field of interest. Unless we could be okay with the fact that with this job, any child we might have had could as easily become an orphan in the space of a moment as other children slip on the floor.

Spencer leaves the couch, comes back with a bottle of water. I drink; I didn't realize how thirsty I am. How long have I been talking? I have no idea. My voice is breaking now. But still I talk- of when he was in prison, what I felt, what I realized afterwards, how hard I tried to put the thoughts away, how hard I had always tried, and now I was exhausted.

Not until he gently says, 'JJ' do I realize I'm crying. Sobbing. My face is wet with tears, everything is blurry, the impossible weight inside my chest smothering my heart.

I stand up. 'Can I use your washroom?'

I take a few minutes there. Wash my face. Try to calm myself down. But there's no calm now. The most I can do is make myself function without breaking down, so that's what I do. I wipe my face and get out.

Spencer is exactly where I left him, sitting still on the same spot. Sunlight traces his profile in sharp lines, lights up his hair in a burst of rich brown.

I look for a moment, then go and take my seat next to him.

'Your turn', I say.

And he says, looking me in the eyes, 'It's always been you.'

There's a storm of emotions inside me. A raging, deafening storm. I sit there, unable to speak.

'No… not like that.', says Spencer. 'Not really.' His hands are on his lap, he's looking at them. Then he looks at me and begins speaking.

'JJ, one of the first things I learned in life was- I'm different. I'm not normal. I finished middle school before I even had a chance to make any friends. I was the freak in high school, barely 12 and taking classes with 17 year olds; and my classmates either stayed away or took pleasure in bullying me. I went to college at 13, sped through classes and hours of reading and research, and when I got out, I had five degrees and zero friends. My only family was far, far away. BAU was the first place in my life where I made any friends, ever. And…'

He pauses, then, looking at me, says, 'You.'

There is so much in this one word. I bite inside my cheek to keep myself from losing it.

'It hit me like lightening, you know.' He smiles, how can he smile? 'I'd been noticing girls for a few years but never really had anything with anybody- when, how'd that even happen?- and then you come in my life, beautiful, kind- and let me tell you, I haven't had any beautiful girl be nice and kind to me before. Trust me. And you weren't just being nice, you really wanted to be friends, really wanted to protect me. There was Elle too- remember Elle? She was also a friend, but that was different somehow. I never felt for her what I felt towards you.' He clasps his hands together. 'So I guess I'm guilty of being infatuated with you somewhat in the beginning. After the Redskin game, though…' he breathes, 'It hurt, JJ. It's one thing to know someone doesn't like you back. It's another thing entirely to realize you're so far out of their radar they didn't even imagine you could actually be an option. It was somewhat of a rude awakening.' he smiles again, and stop doing that, please, for the love of the Lord, I can't take this.

'I'm sorry', I whisper. And I am. Goodness knows I am.

He shakes his hand, dismissing the need of my apology. 'I chided myself quite a lot after that. I remember reading multiple books about what kind of man ladies like and thinking how _not _everything I was- not handsome, not funny…'

'You're handsome.' How ridiculous that this is what I'm interrupting him with right now, but the words tumble out before I can stop them. 'And funny.'

He stops and smiles- almost genuinely this time.

'Thanks, JJ.' A second goes by before he starts again. 'But anyway, all those books confirmed one thing- I was not what women want, I never had been. I convinced myself of that quite well. So much so, in fact, that when there was actually a girl I was too scared to go anywhere with it.'

'The actress?' I remember the blonde starlet who kissed Spencer in the pool. Morgan somehow got his hands on the photographs and had a field day with them, teasing Spence constantly. And I… stayed away. I didn't even tell Derek to lay off. I didn't feel like it, somehow.

'Yes. Lila.' Spencer says. 'We lived in different cities but I could still call her up, something… but I didn't. I believed it was just transference on her part that made her kiss me, her gratitude shifting towards the living manifestation of a strong protector, taking the shape of attraction. I didn't want to stick around long enough for her to realize that she didn't actually want to be with me.'

He doesn't say it but I understand all the same- he didn't want to feel rejected again, not so soon. I try to swallow my guilt. It doesn't work.

'So I stayed away from her. But of course I couldn't stay away from you. We work together. It was difficult at first, looking at you and not to feel hurt, unwanted or just embarrassed, but I found some effective ways to deal with it. For example, when we talked, I'd start picking up on the details of you, of everything around us. The color of the walls. The material of the furniture. The feel of the temperature. The sounds. The inflections of your voice, the expression on your face, the exact shade of blue your eyes are. I focused on the parts, not on the whole. It helped. Sometimes I even chose topics to study later- I'd see you wearing a pair of earrings and decide to study up on the history of earrings that night, you'd talk about some vampire movie and I'd rent and watch it later.' He raised his eyebrows. 'I made some traumatic memories that way.'

My wet burst of laughter sounds like a sob.

'But it got easier with time. You were a true friend, and with our job- there's so much to think about, so much to figure out, I could always dedicate my brain to that. I didn't have to deal with feelings I didn't want, I just had to pick a problem to solve over them. And there were always problems, always psychopaths to catch. So I put all my focus there, and thought- I'm over my random infatuation, cool.'

He stops talking, eyes locked with mine. 'If only', they seem to say.

'Then you told us about Will.' He drinks a little water. Starts talking again. 'Jennifer, I wasn't ready for the amount of pure, undiluted jealousy I felt. Shakespeare said jealousy was the 'green-eyed monster', and it did feel like a monster was constantly scratching inside my chest, with horribly sharp claws.' And I can see it. I can see the pain in his eyes, even now. 'I didn't really know how to handle it; with that and Gideon's absence… I almost fell off the wagon again.'

No, please. No, no, no. I have enough guilt already, I don't want to find out I've had a hand on Spence's drug problems too.

'I didn't, though.' I let out the breath I was holding in. 'But it was hard…' His voice fades away as he reminisces and I don't want to know. I don't want to know of the pain I caused him.

'Strangely, the drug saved me in a way. It made me realize how unfit I was for you- for any relationship, really- how little I had to offer. It's human nature to want people, companionship, that special kind of love, but you can't involve someone else in your life just because you'd love them there- you have to give too. And what did I have to give? Struggling with addiction, no stability, no guidance, half the time I didn't even feel completely sane. I'd see people- on the road, in the parks, shops, trains- talking, laughing, _normal_, and it would feel alien to me, I'd feel like I don't know how to be that way, carefree, uncomplicated- all day, every day. I realized I had to get my life straightened out before I even dared to start thinking about someone else. And someone else was you.

I did better, eventually. I left dialudid behind, I learned to be stronger, to let go of my demons, to breathe a little more easily. By that time, you had Henry.'

'I said no the first time.' I say, stupidly.

'What are you talking about?' Spencer is puzzled.

'After I got pregnant. Will proposed. I said no. I…' Why am I even saying this? Yes, Will was ready to give me everything, but I had rational reasons to say no, didn't I? My career, not wanting a marriage just then, too afraid of a lifelong commitment… or had there been something else too? A faint shadow of a hope lurking in the background- for any kind of sign, for some hint of confession, for something- from this man before me?

How everything comes undone.

Spencer and I sit in silence, looking at each other. I know the pain, the regret in his eyes is mirrored on my own.

'I let you go, Jennifer.' He says, quietly. 'After holding Henry in my arms, after seeing you happy and glowing on the hospital bed that day, I let you go. I laid awake that night, thinking how you now have so much and I couldn't have given it to you, not then, not that easily. I wasn't jealous anymore. I was glad you had Will. In our job, not everyone gets lucky enough to have what you had with him, not everyone is brave enough to offer what he offered you.' He swallows. 'I know I hadn't been.'

'So you never said anything.', my voice is barely audible.

'So I never said anything.', he repeats. 'You already had everything you might possibly want, why would I barge in and try to ruin it? Plus, I thought you saw me as nothing more than a friend. I didn't want to lose your friendship too.'

I had half the picture, he had the other half. And reconstructing now, the blind spots are gone and I see it all, the missed steps and scared backtracks in our entwined path, the possibilities and impossibilities.

'I discovered that it is actually possible to be friends with someone you had feelings for. It's possible to lock the feelings behind routine, behind duty, behind solidarity. When we worked together, it's the work that was always important. When we hung out, I was genuinely invested in our conversations. When I visited your place, played with your kids, talked to Henry, I actually enjoyed myself. It's not like every time you were there my mind launched into romantic tangents. I didn't think of you that way all the time. In fact,' he picks up the water bottle again and turns in his hand, looking at sunlight refracting in the water. 'for a couple of years or so, I pretty much forgot about all this.'

'Maeve.' I say.

'Yeah.' Water sloshes inside the bottle, throwing reflections on the wall. 'I loved her, JJ.'

'I know.', I say.

'She was there, and then she was gone. For the longest time I lived through a haze of pain, I was afraid to go to sleep, of dreams…' I count eleven seconds before he speaks again. 'But I let her go too. And there were other girls. Austin. Stephanie. I had some nice time, then I had nothing- things fizzled out. And what I realized is this: to feel strongly for someone, I need them to understand me, to know what made me, me. Maeve was as smart as me. She and I connected on a level I can't hope to achieve with anyone else. The other women were nice, but with different intellects and different jobs they couldn't possibly understand my mind, or the horror of things I've faced, how it shaped me.' He stops and looks at me and I know what he doesn't say. I work the same job, we're best friends. I've always understood.

'Then my mom got worse and things went crazy and I went to jail and in those days… I was desperate for an anchor, you know? I was going insane worrying and fearing for my life, and when I tried to calm myself down, when I looked back at my life trying to find a constant, an ever-present positive presence, I thought of you guys at the BAU but specifically, JJ, I thought of you. All the times you knew I wasn't okay before anyone else. All the times you made it okay. All the times we save each other. All the moments I felt… I wanted to…'

He trails off, and maybe it's for the better. I don't want to hear the regret. I'm on fire even without those extra douses of gasoline.

'Things changed after jail.' Spencer says. 'After I got out, before I was reinstated, I spent a lot of times thinking about my life, my choices, options. I sat down and reflected, something I'd never done before. I once told Blake I'd used to feel like my future was already behind me but I didn't feel that way anymore- must've been a hopeful time. I felt that way again. I'm nearing forty. I have virtually no family except for a mom who half the time doesn't know who I am and a dad who sends Christmas cards every three years. I have no friends except in the BAU. And with everything that has happened with me… I feel fractured now.' He takes a deep breath and for the first time he looks vulnerable, suddenly the reflection of the boy who he used to be- afraid of the dark and monsters. 'I have flashbacks, nightmares… classic PTSD- PTSS- on top of that I just… I feel like I'm waning. I miss clues. I don't see things. A killer got away two days ago because I failed to connect the dots even when they were clearly there. Grace was his daughter. It was so obvious, but I didn't see it. I mind is slow. I can't… I can't lose the sharpness of my mind, JJ. My mind is me. If my mind is gone, I am gone. I can't stand the thought. It makes me want to hammer my head against the wall until I've cracked my skull.'

'Spence', my eyes sting with fresh tears. What kind of crap friend was I if I missed all this? 'You should've said something. If you're struggling, why didn't you tell me?'

'Because, Jennifer', he leans towards me, looking into my eyes, 'It terrified me how much I wanted to.'

Silence, broken only by regular sounds. Cars honk outside. Someone yells. A TV is blaring somewhere. Spencer stands up and walks towards the window. Leans against the wall beside it. Half of him is painted gold in sunlight, the other half is shrouded in shadow.

'I wanted someone.' His voice drifts towards me. 'I had been getting pretty good at being alone. Honestly, I loved it most of the time. That's been the way I lived since forever, and it worked for me. I never thought you absolutely had to have someone to be happy. But since prison, I started to feel… lonely, I guess.'

He says it like a confession, like a dirty secret, like he did something wrong by not being immune to this fundamental human feeling.

'I hated not having anyone to talk to once I left work. I hated coming home to an empty apartment. When nightmares woke me up in the middle of the night, I hated that it was up to me to calm myself, soothe myself, tell myself it was okay. I'd done it for so long. I was tired. I wanted someone else to do it for me for a change. I wanted someone to share my meals with. I wanted someone I could take a walk with. I wanted someone to have debates with. When flashbacks and voices and screams tried to pull me under, I wanted a hand to hold onto. When doubts clouded my mind, I wanted someone to pull me close to them and tell me 'you're being an idiot'. When I felt exhausted after another day dissecting sick, twisted minds, I wanted someone who'd make me forget all that with a brilliant smile, a tight hug and a long kiss. And when I tried to picture that someone, I realized she was in my life. She just wasn't mine.'

Me.

'The amount of baggage I have…' Spencer almost sounds like he's talking to himself now. 'Starting something new, bringing someone new in my life- in the very unlikely case I met someone like that- it would almost feel like I was tainting them, bringing darkness to another person's wholesome life. It was a scary thought. But it wasn't even that. When I looked at other women... they didn't know my story already, and I already felt exhausted to my bones when I thought the conversations I'd have to have- I'd have to tell them everything, relive years of terrible memories before they even begin to understand who I am. And you were right there, sensing when things are wrong before I even said anything, rescuing me, checking on me... when I looked at other women, Jennifer, they weren't you. And when I said it's been always been you, I guess this is what I meant. That it always came back to you.'

Spencer walks back to sit beside me on the couch, closer this time, facing me.

'I didn't ask for this. I didn't want to feel that way for you. Not again. There had always been moments, I always knew I had leftover, unresolved feelings for you tucked away inside me somewhere. I wasn't planning on those feelings making such a forceful comeback. But they did. And it hurt.'

'And you hid them.', I say, numb.

'I hid them well, I think.'

'Yes, you did.' I never knew. Maybe I wanted to believe. But he never gave anything away.

'Staying away helped. When I taught classes, I didn't have to see you everyday. I visited you less frequently. I had almost stopped doing academic research for a couple of years there, but I got into it again, writing papers, publishing. Anything to keep my mind off futile thoughts. And when I was with you… well, I loved you. I loved you quietly, and that is that.'

And that is that.

We have arrived at the end of the line. His story. My story. This is where they merge, this is where we are now.

Spencer leaves the room. Comes back washing his face. Water droplets glisten on his hair.

He sits back down, and says, 'I'm joining Harvard.'

I blink. 'What?'

'I'm joining Harvard as a full-time professor.'

It clicks into place then, the way he insisted it was okay, we'd be okay last night. He's leaving.

'When did you apply?' Suddenly there isn't enough air in the room.

'Few months. I flew out for an interview. I just received the confirmation last week.'

'Why?' I ask. It can't be me. He can't be leaving the BAU for me. But even as I think it, I know this has to be at least part of the reason.

He doesn't say that, though. 'I'm tired, JJ.' He answers simply. 'I absolutely love what we do, love saving people's lives, and I wish I could do it for thirty more years. But I feel stretched to my limit nowadays. I decided to be selfish and save myself.'

Selfish is the last thing he is, but I don't have the energy to argue now. 'Massachusetts.', I say instead.

'Yeah.'

'When... when will you go?'

'I have to get everything into place, settle down before the fall semester starts.'

I stare at him, unable to speak.

He's leaving, he's really leaving.

And where does that leave me, him, us?

As if to answer my unspoken question, Spencer says, 'I want to apologize, JJ.'

'For what?' I can't think of any reason at all.

'For asking. What you said there… I could pretend I thought you were bluffing. At the wedding afterwards, I could just walk up to you and tease you about being such a great liar. I didn't have to be distant, I didn't have to ask you if you meant it later, and then we wouldn't be here now. But…' he looks away, then brings his eyes back on me again, 'I wanted to know more than I wanted anything in a long, long time. I just wanted to know. 'This is the least I deserve', I thought. That wasn't the right way of thinking. I wasn't right in the head, after all that. I'm sorry.'

'Don't.' I whisper. This is wrong, he shouldn't be apologizing. But I don't know if he hears me. He continues talking.

'But now I know. And so,' Spence slides out of the couch and kneels in front of me. He takes both of my hands in his. Keeps his eyes steady on my face. 'Jennifer, please understand the only reason, the _only_ reason I ask you this is because', he enunciates every word carefully, 'I have to hear you say no. If I ever hope to find peace, if I want to take comfort in the fact that I did everything in my power to leave you in the absolute best place possible, I need you to say it, I need to hear it.' His eyes are intense, telling me what has to to happen. Then he asks the question.

'Jennifer, will you choose me?'

'I can't.'

I say it fast, as if hating the taste of it in my mouth. Yet it is the truth. I can't leave Will. I can't leave my sons. I can't lose them.

Spencer nods, like I just gave the most satisfactory answer in the world, like I didn't just break his heart all over again.

He knew, of course. He knew I wouldn't leave my family, and he knew he could never take me away from them. He still wanted me to have all the choices, wanted me to pick and speak out my decision, cementing it, for the sake of my peace as much as his.

My vision blurs again. My body is wracked with sobs. I can't breathe.

I feel Spencer come up beside me. Strong, familiar arms pull me close. Spence holds me tight against his chest, so tight I can feel the beat of his heart. I can feel him shaking. The world ceases to exist. There's only an ocean of agony, and only one person to hold onto.

Spencer.

* * *

An eternity later, we pull apart. Spencer's shirt is soaking wet, he goes to change. I check on the boys, and text Will. I tell him, trying to limit the lies as much as possible, I wasn't feeling great and was going to come home, but came over to Spencer's instead because he wanted to discuss some stuff.

'What kind of stuff?' Will asks.

'Big personal decision kind. He wanted to consult a little. Tell you later. Love.' I text back.

I'm standing right on the edge of a bottomless chasm of guilt. But right now, I can't fall in.

I walk around the room, stretching my limbs after hours of sitting. I came in the morning. Now it's well past noon, heading towards afternoon. I feel strangely empty, as if too many emotions have accumulated to make nothing, like all the colors of the rainbow creating pure white together.

'You remember our talk about imagined future when your mom was visiting?' Spence has walked back into the room. He's pulled on a loose purple t-shirt. Washed his face again. It occurs to me that I needed to do the same.

'I do.' I say.

'You wanted to hear what I imagined for my future.'

'Yeah.' I try to smile. 'And you promised me a whole date.' I wasn't really thinking, but as soon as I hear myself say it, I flinch. That was not probably the best way to phrase it.

But suddenly Spencer looks like he's trying to stifle a laugh. 'Oh, yes? A whole date?'

'Well', I shift uncomfortably 'Yes.'

'Then that is what you shall have.' He walks towards his refrigerator, pulls out a box and takes something out. He comes back and offers it to me. It's a small, narrow, dark brown piece of fruit.

A fruit called date.

'A whole date for the lady.', he says solemnly, keeping a straight face.

A startled burst of laughter escapes me, then eases out in a stream as I laugh genuinely for the first time in hours.

'Please tell me you weren't keeping this in your refrigerator just so you could make this joke one day.'

'Oh, I absolutely was.' His eyes are red, but they sparkle. 'I've wanted to make this joke ever since I saw it in Indiana Jones.'

We stand laughing silently and in this moment, everything's beautiful, everything's okay.

But it doesn't last. Our smiles fade, our eyes shift away from each other as we remember.

'Dates are very high in sugar- about 63 grams in each. It's a great source of fresh calorie when you don't feel like eating a lot but could use a burst of energy. I always keep some handy. But coming back to your point, I did promise you a date.' He says it easily, lightly. 'Do you mind if I order some food?'

He orders Chinese, telling me it's from a small place, but the best in town. I am not the least bit hungry, but I try my best to show enthusiasm. Then he gets some paper towel, a brown paper bag and steps out. 'Back in a few minutes!', he promises.

I visit the washroom, get freshened up. I spend some time looking through Spence's old scrapbook, smiling to myself seeing pictures of him as a kid.

It's been more than a few minutes. Where has he gone? I'm just about to look around to see if he's taken his phone when he pokes his head in.

'JJ. Come on out.'

He locks the apartment door from outside and gets us in the elevator. We step out at the top floor, then walk a flight of stairs- to the rooftop.

It's bare, gray, hard cement. Nothing to see except some junk. But then Spencer leads me around to a corner that wasn't visible from the door and- oh.

There's this tall, metal skeleton of a scaffolding of some kind, working as a canopy, covered with some thin, white fabric. Vines climb in countless twists around the frame, dotted with minuscule orange flowers. I realize the root is outside the roof, probably just a stubborn plant bursting from between bricks and growing all the time. A table has been set under the canopy, complete with Chinese food. Two chairs face each other from either side of the table. They look worn, but clean and comfortable.

'Have all these always been here?'

'Well, the food hasn't. Or the tablecloth. Or the plates and spoons.'

I roll my eyes. 'Okay. But the rest?'

'Yeah. The canopy. The table. The chairs. I come up here to read sometimes.'

The view isn't great, mostly walls and pieces of empty lanes, but I realize how this can be a nice place to sit alone. It's peaceful up here, cool and quiet.

'Sorry,' Spencer says, 'But this is the best I could do at ten minutes' notice.'

I smile. 'Don't you worry. It's perfect.'

The weak late-winter sun washes the roof with comfortable warmth. We sit down to eat. Spencer was right, the food really is fantastic. It still doesn't give me an appetite.

'What I wanted to tell you', he says, poking his chow mein with a fork- still no chopsticks for him- 'is one of my imagined futures.'

'Just one?' I chew my mu-shu pork. 'You were supposed to tell me all of them.'

He smiles. 'Maybe someday. But today I want to tell you this one. Emily talked about parallel universes last night, and this takes place in one of those.'

Spencer drops his fork on his plate, shoves it aside, puts his elbows on the table, and leans towards me. 'In this future, we are together.' he says, the sound of his voice low but steady. 'We have been together since we went on our first date after a week we met. We don't work for the BAU. You have an excellent Wall Street job, I teach college. We met when I got dragged to the birthday party of my colleague's girlfriend, and you were invited because you lived across the hall from her. You wore a deep blue dress, your smile lit up the room, your eyes sparkled like stars. I wanted you the moment I saw you.

So I went and talk to you and oh, you were smart. You were intelligent and well-aware, soft-spoken but still firm in your beliefs and opinions. We kept up a constant stream of back and forth, we had a heated debate about whether chocolate was really better than vanilla, we didn't know it was time to leave until we suddenly saw an almost-empty room around us.

I wanted this. You. I asked for your number, and returned with it like it was the most precious jewel on this earth.

Our first-date was a classic dinner. But it was good. It was so good. You wore black and looked stunning, but what really mattered was how easily we fell into place, how it felt like we'd been doing this forever. You confessed you thought my hair was a little weird. I admitted I was too scared to say anything to my barber because he was like 250 pounds and didn't seem to speak a word of English. You laughed and promised to find me a new barber. We talked about our childhood, and I was afraid, afraid you'd think me a freak like most people did- AWOL dad, schizophrenic mom, college at puberty- no part of my story was usual or regular. But you didn't judge. You were gentle and kind.

I knew that night that I loved you. But I thought that couldn't be- can you really fall so hard, so fast? Turned out you can, because as we kept meeting, my feelings felt permanent, set in stone inside me.

I was scared to make the first move, to kiss you. I didn't know the rules, didn't know how to read the signals. So at the end of our fourth date, standing at the steps of your apartment as I dropped you off, you said with a frustrated sigh, 'You're gonna make _me_ do it, aren't you?' And before I could ask what you were talking about, you stood on your toes, snaked your arm around my neck, pulled me down, and kissed me. It started slow and gentle but I deepened it, pulling you against my body and when it ended, we were short of breath. We said nothing except goodbyes, we didn't have to.

I had you. You were my girlfriend. I was constantly amazed at the fact that you seemed to love me as much I loved you, need me as much as I needed you. I'd never had that before and now I did and it was the best feeling in the world- to know that you're wanted. It was so good that I felt scared sometimes- what if I lost you? What if you one day you woke up and decided you didn't like me anymore? It didn't seem real that such a wonderful woman could want to stay with me forever.

But you did. On the one-year anniversary of our first date, I proposed. I went all out too, real cheesy. I asked you to come over, and when you did there were fairy lights strung all around the apartment, rose petals on the floor, your favorite music soft on the speaker. I got down on one knee and said the truth- I wanted you for the rest of my life, so would you be my wife? And amazingly, incredibly, you said yes.

It was a small wedding, just family and close friends. You loved the beach, so that's where we had it. You walking down the isle was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, I would ever see. Unruly wind snatched at your veil, your dress. You didn't care. Neither did I. We said our vows over the muted roar of the ocean. We kissed for too long. We had too much cake. We danced, holding each other like we never wanted to let go.

It wasn't all a fairy tale. We had our bad times. One day you had to be rushed to the hospital from work and have an emergency appendix removal surgery. There was that time when I was really stressed out about some research I was doing at the college and you were hurt because I had been spacing out too much, too frequently. There was that time when we had a big argument about your mom, and that time when we had one about mine. But we always came back, we always found each other.

We had three kids, two girls and a boy. Meg is the oldest, just stepping into teen age, starting to look more and more like her mother everyday. She is full of life- outgoing, athletic, friendly. She always, always smiles. Jason is the second, a gentle kid. He talks softly, thoughtfully. He loves animals, the nature, the sound of the rain. Ella is the youngest, and at barely six years of age she has to wear glasses, because she reads books all the time. You blame me, laughing. Ella asks so many questions. Answering her is my new favorite job. We love them so, so much.

Years go by. Our children grow up. Whatever challenge life throws at us, we stand together, we survive.

Meg has a fancy corporate job and is engaged to a good man, quiet Jason went to art school and is a surprising heartthrob among women- _he's just so sensitive! And those blue eyes! And that long, messy brown hair!-_, Ella has topped all her classes, goes to Harvard, has a formidable brain.

And one day, after all that, we take a vacation. We go to Salar de Uyuni.

Salar de Uyuni- it's in Bolivia. It is the largest salt flat in the world, four thousand and eighty six square miles. If the season is right- November to April- the flats are wet and the sky reflects on them. It's like one gigantic mirror.

So that's where we go. We're old, we tire easily, still we take the long trip and it's worth it, because when we see it, it's magic. There are clouds under our feet, the brilliant blue sky both above and below us. It's disorienting, it feels like we'll fall through. So we hold hands tightly, and we walk on the sky.

At night, it is cold. Still we get out of the tent. We wrap ourselves in one big blanket, limbs tangled, your head on my shoulder, and we sit at awe of the vastness of the universe, a million stars twinkling in the forever-wide sky and another million winking back, mirrored in the clear salt ground. Sitting on the stars, I cup the side of your face in one of my hand, making you look at me, and ask, 'Jennifer, has this been the life you wanted?' Your smile is familiar, and after all these years, it still lights up the dark, 'Yes. Yes. Yes.', you say. We don't have to say that we love each other, because we know it. So we sit in beautiful silence, watching constellations move across the night sky.'

I don't even know when Spencer stopped talking. I don't even know where I am. For a long, long time we sit in silence, maybe on an old rooftop in the middle of a busy, frantic city; maybe on a ground made of salt under and over a galaxy of stars. Which life is real? I can't tell anymore.

* * *

I help Spencer bring the food- pretty much untouched- and the crockery back home. Evening has fallen. It's time to go home.

Home.

Choking guilt churns inside me. Spencer says something and I almost miss it the first time.

'Sorry, what was that?'

'I asked if I could take a picture of you. I don't have any.', Which is predictable. Digital photos are not something Spencer has space in his life for.

'Sure', I say. He pulls out a digital camera from somewhere, he must be one of the only people on earth who haven't replaced their cameras with smartphones. He takes a simple picture, me standing near his desk. My mouth is open in a half-confused smile, my hands awkward. But he nods like this is exactly the picture he wanted. 'They print these, right?' he asks me and I assure him they do, and just like that, it's time to leave.

We linger near his door. We talked so much today, yet so much seem to hang in the air, so much more we could've said.

Could've had.

'I'll see you at work tomorrow?', he says.

'Yes.' I nod. We both understand the unspoken agreement- we're erasing today, we're going back to our old routine, we're strapping ourselves back to where we were before yesterday, what we were.

What we weren't.

'Okay', he says. We're standing close, so close, and suddenly I can't stand it. I think I'll run out of here right now. Then I walk in the opposite direction instead- close the two-step distance between us, put my arms around him and my face against his chest.

He holds me fiercely, crushing me against his body, burying his face in the crook of my neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. Still it doesn't feel enough. I want him to mark my skin, to seep through and get into my bloodstream. I let myself want that, for the last time, for just this moment.

I look up, grab his face. Press my own face onto it. Feel his stubble on my cheek, his breath in my ear. The corners of our lips touch.

One second. Two.

I let go of his face.

We stand there, our arms around each other. He bows his head and touches his forehead against mine.

'In a parallel universe, Jennifer.', he whispers.

'In a parallel universe.' I echo.

He presses his lips on my forehead for a second- soft and warm against my skin. Then he releases me and steps away.

We don't say goodbye, but we know. This is goodbye. I have so much to figure out still, but one thing is crystal clear- I'm leaving Spence's JJ behind in this room today. Will's JJ is walking out. Will's JJ is going home. That's who I am now, and that's who I will be forever after.

I walk away. I don't look back.


	3. The After

**A/N: I wanted to write this sooner, but one of my friends got married and I was busy with that. I'll post a longer Author's Note soon- in a separate chapter 'cause I want to discuss some stuff, but it's late now so I'll leave things here.**  
**Important point to note: I made some small edits in the earlier chapters here and there, one of which is vital. I thought JJ needed to answer before she asked, so I added that.**  
**Enjoy, and give me your love/hate.**

* * *

Maria knows who she is as soon as she sees her.

By now, several people have arrived. A well-built, muscular man with skin the color of mocha and cornrows in his hair that clash strangely with his formal outfit. He has with him what must be his family, a pretty readhead with a tiny baby in her arms. Another man pulls up shortly after, old but still a solid, powerful air about him, with an old but beautiful woman in tow. The muscular man calls them dad and mom.

More old people come. Two women, one slender and graceful, another looking like everyone's favorite grandmother- big, fluffy, and, Maria is sure, jolly in better times. A couple, the husband with eyes that indicate an Asian origin. A hispanic-looking man. Two more woman- one African-American- tall and big, her gray hair in a buzzcut, one shorter but still with the same kind of gravity, somehow. In fact, all these people have that in common- a quiet, formidable energy, a sense of power. Nobody will think of dismissing them as just an old and gray bunch.

Then three more people arrive. Two men- blond, blue eyes, good looking, and sharing the unmistakable family resemblance of brothers. She is with them. Small, hair the deep dishwater brown of a former blonde, old skin taut over her delicate features, wrinkled hands, but blue eyes sharp and clear. Yet, Maria doesn't miss the pain in her. Everybody here is distraught; that much is obvious. But this woman- the grief etched in every line of her face, the fractured light in her eyes, the way she carries herself- like she has received a physical blow and now it is impossible to recover…

Maria has seen some of these people before, even if only in pictures. This woman she has never seen. But as soon as she does, she knows.

This is her.

This is Jennifer.

It's not hard to tell that the people that have arrived know each other. They speak in low tones, hug, wipe their eyes when they think no one is looking. They day matches the mood- gray and cloudy. A chilly wind blows.

Maria is sad too, has been since the day of the death. But now, looking at all these people, another emotion boils to the surface of her mind, sluggish but very real- surprise. It is clear all these people really care, and they would drop everything and come as soon as they were called because that is what they did if all of them are here right now in such a short notice- then why did Mr. Reid never mention them? Why did he give vague answers when Maria asked him about his family and friends? Why didn't he want this people around?

Mr. Reid said he didn't have much family to begin with, and the ones he'd had were all dead. Questions about friends were met with casual dismissal- '_They live away. I'd rather not bother them_….' Maria figured he just wasn't very close with his 'friends', never had been or maybe once was but drifted apart from them later in life. But now, for the first time Maria wonders if it might be just the opposite of what she thought- Mr. Reid didn't want his friends around because they were _too _close. When you're trying to hide from yourself, wouldn't you hide from the people who know you too? And Mr. Reid very much used to hide from himself. And then he wasn't there anymore.

Maria also can't help feeling a little betrayed. 'Don't', she tells herself, but the feeling is undeniably there. She was the closest to the dead man on the last days of his life. Everything from the procedures at the hospital to this funeral service was handled or arranged by either she or her boyfriend, Carl. Yes, it is true that Mr. Reid, on the last day he was… the last day he was_ present_, gave Carl very specific instructions- requests. 'I've written everything down', he said. He told them where they'd find the notepad. And he really did have it all down- from finances to timings, from payment methods and ways to draw out the money… and whom to reach out to once he's gone. Maria has sent the emails herself, even the wording pre-chosen by Mr. Reid, and now they are here, and they don't know Maria, and Maria doesn't know them and they feel like Mr. Reid's old friends, real friends and Maria feels isolated,under-prepared, in the dark.

Who _are_ these people?

As if to answer her, one of the women comes over.

'You're Maria, right?', she asks in a soft, low voice. 'You wrote to us?'

'Yes. You are Ms. …'

'Callaghan. Reid was your neighbor?'

'Yes.', Maria doesn't know what else to say, doesn't know how to explain that Mr. Reid had been more than that.

Mr. Reid had moved in the apartment across the hall from Maria's before a little over a year. Maria met him on the first day- a tall, thin old man with a shock of messy gray hair. He said he was a retired professor, which didn't surprise her at all, he looked_ exactly_ like a retired professor. There was a chess set among his things. Maria had Shane with him, he asked him about it. They struck up a conversation. Next thing Maria knew, Shane was going over to his apartment multiple times a week for chess lessons. 'He's amazing.', he told Maria.

Maria had her reserves initially. Shane was a special child. His autism was not so severe that he couldn't attend a public school, but he was painfully introverted, preferring to be alone almost all the time, and prone to fits. The unlikely friendship between her son and Mr. Reid felt like a good thing, but Maria had learned to watch good things with apprehension- they tended to be temporary.

In a way, it was. Maria's grandmother died of dementia. It didn't take long for her to realize Mr. Reid has the same disease. He also had that tendency many people with this disease has, the tendency to hide it. He was good at it too. Mr. Reid was one extremely smart man; that had been obvious from the very first. But dementia doesn't discriminate, doesn't forgive anyone. You can't really hide it when you fail to recognize someone whom you see everyday, when you are suddenly confused by the same topic you were easily talking about five minutes ago. And he deteriorated fast.

But not before really helping Shane. Not before teaching him chess, giving him books to read, even showing him magic tricks. And when the bullying problems Shane faced in school got severe and Maria cried in front of Mr. Reid, telling him how they couldn't afford to send him to a school for special children, he listened. Then he simply gave them the money.

Carl and Maria protested, saying they couldn't just take his money like that. But he was adamant. 'I have no one to leave money to, really. And I don't have a lot of use for it. It's just sitting in a bank. I'd much rather help Shane.', he said.

So, yes. They were really grateful, and even discounting that, Maria had come to love the old man. Witty, polite, and a true gentleman with a good soul, Mr. Reid was unlike a lot of other rude and cranky old people, heck, even younger people, Maria had met.

Mr. Reid didn't talk about his dementia, and didn't like anyone talking about it. But that couldn't be kept up for too long. He steadily got worse. Maria doesn't work now. She had time, and she really cared for the old man, so she gradually started to take some responsibilities, help him take care of himself. She could manage well enough in the beginning, but then it got to be too much. He needed help more often (even if he denied needing it), he had days when he would see, hear, know, do nothing. Maria felt genuine sadness, seeing him try so hard to keep hold onto his thoughts, memories, keep that sharp mind of his. He got angry, then sorry. He got frustrated, then devastated. But it's like trying to catch water in your fists. You can't win.

They had to get him a caregiver. Then, on his last days, he had to be transferred to a hospital. It was hard to watch- a beautiful mind in ruins, a face that so often offered warm smiles now vacant, not a hint of recognition in the eyes that used to sparkle with love and affection.

These people here, his friends, they didn't have to see it. Maria did.

'Maybe that was the point', Maria thinks. 'He didn't want them to see it.'

The service has begun. Ms. Callaghan has walked back to her friends. The funeral director is speaking. He asks if anyone would like to share anything. He looks at Maria and Carl, which makes sense since they are the ones that met with the director before. Maria steps up to speak after a moment's hesitation. She doesn't really know what to say at first- in the middle of strangers, who seem to have known a different Mr. Reid, what can she say that will resonate with them? Then she chides herself. They're not the ones she'll be talking for. She will do it for Mr. Reid.

She starts haltingly, talking a bit about how they came to know him, then it gets easier and she talks about his kindness, his wit, his helpful and giving nature…

Carl has to stop Maria. She doesn't know when she's started crying. She steps back, trying to calm herself. This is already hard enough for Shane.

Carl says a few words. Then the solid-looking old man steps forward.

'Spencer Reid', his voice shakes a little, 'was my brother. We didn't share parents, no; but we shared more than that. We fought together, we saved people, saved each other…'

What is he _talking_ about?

Maria glances at her family. Carl looks as puzzled as he is. Shane's face is the same stony mask it has been for the last few days. As Maria listens, her surprise grows. Was Mr. Reid in the military or something? She couldn't picture it as however much she tried. Impossible.

'… he chose to pull away in the last year of his life, and he must have had his reasons…', the man looks like he's forcing out the words, like he hated missing the chance to personally find and shake Mr. Reid by the neck- '_What were you __**thinking**_?'But he takes a pause to steady himself and continues, 'but as frustrating as it had been, we knew we had to trust him. He did what he thought was right. He always did...'

From the corner of his eyes, Maria sees Jennifer- at least who Maria thinks is Jennifer- shift slightly.

The man is saying his goodbye now, his voice breaking, eyes wet. He finishes and steps back. The heavy woman is crying earnestly. The graceful one steps up, talks about Mr. Reid's bravery, his excellent service to… _the_ _FBI_?

Maria remembers Mr. Reid having said he had some federal job before joining Harvard, but _FBI_?

So many pieces fall into place now- the secrecy, the power coming off these people, these former _agents_.

This is crazy.

Maria's mind is reeling. She only half listens as one by one, the old colleagues lay their love, memories and goodbyes out in the air, for everyone to listen, for them to relive and remember. The man with cornrows is Hank, who carries the middle name 'Spencer' still. The blond brothers are both Mr. Reid's godsons. They're Jennifer's sons.

Jennifer steps up to talk. She says very little.

'He was my best friend. He was someone whom I found whenever I reached out- no matter why, when, or how. Well, until he went off-grid. But I understand. I loved him before, and I love him now. Spence, thank you. Thank you for all that you gave me, and all that we had together, and wherever you are now, I hope it is a good, peaceful place, free of wants and regrets of life. I love you.'

Her speech was the shortest. But Maria can see she is the hardest hit. It's plastered all over her face.

On a cold day, with the sun blotted out by the pale, gray clouds and the wind blowing through the tree branches and tugging at everything with chilly hands, Mr. Reid is returned to the embrace of the earth.

There will be no wake, at least not one that has been pre-planned. Maria needs to go home now. But she approaches the small woman.

'Are you Jennifer?', she asks,

She looks up at her face. 'Yes.'

'I… I have something for you. If it's not too much trouble, can you come with me to Mr. Reid's apartment? Old apartment, I mean. Across from mine. It's not far.'

Jennifer doesn't ask any questions. 'Yes.'

* * *

Everything in his bedroom is exactly as Maria left them, except with a thin layer of dust on top.

The books all in neat stacks, notepads opened and unopened, a few pens or pencils strewn about. One coffee mug still near full of days-old stale coffee. Several wooden boards on the wall, all of them covered with small post-its, pinned pages filled with notes and a few printouts. Some of them say pretty clear and simple things, '10:00 a.m. and 10:00 p.m. the red capsules, second drawer', 'Put milk in the fridge, Monday, 08. 12.', 'Bills for March, paid', 'Bedroom door to the right, 10 steps, straight 12 steps till washroom, hallway', phone numbers. Some are mathematical formulas, continuing pages of calculations. Some are quotations. Some are pictures. They look like they have been printed out from social media. Two blue-eyed men standing with their arms around each other, making goofy faces at the camera- #brolove! One muscular guy with cornrows and a confident grin, with a backpack slung on his shoulder- 'Hiking season nd I am GO'. Maria always wondered who this people are. There had never been any clear answer from Mr. Reid. Except she saw them today, and now she knows. Some notes make no sense at all- 'Gone. D.R. 2033' and 'Better away'. The last one is violently underlined.

Jennifer walks around the room, looking at all the boards. Maria leaves her alone. She is sad enough herself, it's better to stay away from someone else's pain. And it was raw, Jennifer's pain- she could almost feel it rolling off her in waves. It makes her a little nervous about what she's going to do. But she's made her decision.

Maria pulls out the box.

Jennifer is looking at her now. She takes a deep breath.

'This was among his things.', she says. 'I haven't had a chance to look at everything but I was cleaning out that chest of drawers the other day, and…'

She offers the box to the woman. She takes it, then puts it on the bed, sitting down beside it. It's a big box.

A big box full of letters.

All addressed to 'Jennifer'.

'I looked at a few of them', Maria admits. 'Not all. Of course, there are so many… look', the old woman does, taking her eyes off of the box and on Maria's face, 'I don't know about you two, your story, okay? Mr. Reid…'

'It's doctor.', Jennifer says, her voice empty.

Maria stumbles. 'What?'

'_Doctor_ Reid.', the woman corrects in that same lifeless voice.

'Okay…', this seems like a strange thing to get hung up about right now, but grief takes people to unnamed places. '_Doctor_. Reid.' Maria takes a second to pull he thoughts back together. 'I don't know what story you two had, but it seems like he really cared about you. He… he left detailed instructions in case something happened to him- where to take him, whom to contact- that kind of stuff, but he didn't say anything about what to do with his stuff. Which, I admit, might be an honest mistake or he just didn't think it was important enough, but I think it was intentional.'

Maria looks the old woman in the eye.

'He knew I would see the box. He knew I would meet you at the funeral. He wanted to go not knowing whether you'll ever read his letters or not. He gave that choice up to fate, to me. And I am choosing to give the box to you.'

'How did you know it was me?', the woman stares into the box, full of bundles and bundles of letters.

In reply, Maria sinks her hand into the box, near the left side. She pulls out a small printout of a photograph- a woman inside a room- blond hair, blue eyes, mouth open in a half smile.

'Isn't this you?'

* * *

Ava likes old-timey things. She always has. So her roommate, Kiara, isn't surprised when she comes back from the flea market with two boxes full of junk.

'Look at this!', she is so excited, too. 'Actual paper books! Come on! And is this… an _iphone 3_?!

'Why do you even know what an iphone 3 looks like?', Kiara rolls her eyes, applying bright aqua-colored lipstick in front of the mirror.

'I know my antiques! Ooh, look, a legit _oil lamp_! My God, today's haul has been too good.'

Kiara wraps her scarf around her neck. It's cold outside.

'Keep your haul to yourself, woman.', she warns. 'If I see you try to 'decorate' the apartment with any more of those…'

'That CPU was nice!', Ava protested.

'Right.' Kiara rolls her eyes again. 'Normal people don't even know what that is.' She opens the door. 'I'm staying over at Lisa's tonight. Bye, and don't drown yourself in your junks.'

Ava doesn't look like she heard anything. 'Is this a whole box full of… hand-written letters?'

Kiara frowns. 'Letters? A. B, C, D…?'

'No, letters!' Ava is almost bouncing with excitement. 'What we had before email? God! Look at this. '_Dear Jennifer_…' ink, paper, early 21st century full-words-full-sentences English? Holy shit!'

'Okay, whatever.' Kiara shakes her head and pulls the door close.

Ava picks up a piece of paper eagerly. It's yellow with age, the ink faded. But still readable.

'_Dear Jennifer,_

_It has started._

_I didn't want to believe it. I still don't. People forget things all the time when they're old- less blood flow to the brains, neurons aren't created anymore… but I know it's not that. In my case, it's that other thing. The thing I was most afraid of._

_Dementia._

_And you know what this means, Jennifer, don't you?_

_That I will be lost. I will be gone long before my body dies._

_I talked to you today. Just an hour ago, in fact. But I didn't say this to you. I don't know how to. I don't know if I want to…_'

Ava finishes reading and picks up another one.

'_Dear Jennifer,_

_Today was terrible. I yelled at Maria and then felt the crushing guilt. It's not her fault I forgot about the oven and almost started a fire. It's not her fault that I don't want to look at the truth. It's not her fault I decided to get lost, leave, go from everyone's life, your life, before I lose myself. I couldn't let you see it. I couldn't let you see me become nothing. I could hardly bear it when it happened to mom. I can hardly bear it now that I'm seeing this happen to myself. It's an ugly nightmare in slow motion, it poisons you, watching it. It taints your memory of the person permanently and once that happens you can't make it un-happen. I won't put you through that. Any of you guys. I can't._

_But I miss you so much and why does this have to be so hard? Why is everything bad now, can you tell me?...'_

Ava hauls the whole box full of letters up on to her bed and sits herself comfortably. She picks up another one,

'_Dear Jennifer,_

_Remember the day I left for Boston? All of you came to the airport, and Penelope cried so much, and Michael wouldn't let go of my hand? And when we said goodbye, you didn't hug me, and you know what I was saying in my mind? 'Thank God.', because if you did, if you held me again, maybe, just maybe I'd break. I had been holding myself together for so long, and every time some new nightmare created cracks and breaks I repaired them, covered them up, but there's only so much you can do. I was running, I hadn't wanted to go past the breaking point, and then you said you loved me- the chances not taken, the life we missed… would you blame me if I fell over the edge? Would you blame me, Jennifer, wanting to hold on to you and declare war, on everyone, everything, fate and the world- screaming, 'Mine, and I will __**not**__ give it up?'…'_

…

'_Dear Jennifer,_

_I couldn't remember your name._

_For a full minute, I didn't know who you were._

_I had your image in my head, I had that familiar empty ache inside me, a longing, an absence so raw it cuts through everything… but I didn't know why. I didn't know you._

_I'm completely off-the-grid now. You won't find me, not even Penelope Garcia will find me. Not unless I want to._

_Honestly? I want to. I want to hear your voice. I want to call you and tell you, 'This is where I am, come to me right now.' I want to get on a plane and show up on your doorstep, saying, 'Enough!' We've wasted so many chances, so much time, and now we're at the end, but no one stands between us anymore and I love you so much it hurts, I just want to be with you._

_But I can't want that. Your husband was a good man and he died honorably. He deserves more than six months of mourning, and you deserve more than a sick, dying man at your side._

_Funny how it's always too late for us, Jennifer…_'

…

'_Dear Jennifer,_

_I don't think I have much time left. I can feel myself fading. My brain, my smarts has gone a long time ago. Now it's my memories. I can feel them go too- frayed edges, then everything smeared together, then shredded like a million pieces of paper and then poof- gone with the wind. I fought for them, you know. I held onto them as long as I could, but it was like holding onto a car that's driving away- it dragged me over dead, hard ground and left me bruised and bleeding, with no result to show for it. _

_So I let them go now. I sit and think all day. Reliving, remembering for the last time before one day there is just an empty place where a specific memory used to be. You, I think about you so much of the time. The way you sat at the edge of my desk. The way you cocked your head while looking at those maps I worked on. The way you knew the seat beside me was yours...'_

_..._

'_Dear Jennifer,_

_I think this is goodbye. For days I didn't know anything. Who I was, where I was, what anything was. This burst of clarity won't last. I will be gone again. And then I might never come back. Something tells me I won't._

_But in this moment, I know. I know who I am. I know who you are. And with absolute, absolute certainty I know this- I love you._

_I wish I had you with me now. I lost my old memories of you. I wish I could make one new memory, just one- where I get to see your face, hold your hand, tell you this- tell you I love you and see it reflect back to me on your eyes._

_But I would lose this memory too, lose it as soon as I made it, so this is for the better. I will go alone, and I will think of stars. Stars over our head, under our feet, and I don't know now, did this ever happen?_

_If it didn't, then why does it feel so real?'_

…

Evening has fallen. Ava should really get up, turn on the lights. Put these old letters back in their box. Who were these people anyway? The woman was named, but none of the letters are signed. Ava doesn't know who wrote them.

And still, as shadows cling to walls and the room fades in deep, purple darkness, Ava sits on her beds clutching an old piece of paper, and cries, cries for a man who lived and loved a hundred years ago.


	4. Author's Note

**NOT part of the story. Just a longass Author's Note.**

* * *

**This is personal. But bear with me.**

**I had a crush on one of my friends for years. I knew that he was aware that I liked him. I also knew he didn't like me that way. So what happened was we kept up a friendship. A _good_ friendship. We were really close, shared most things, and could talk about anything. To be just friends with him was hard in the beginning but over time it got easier; so easy, in fact that most of the time- when we hung out, talked, did stuff- I never even saw him differently, never thought about my crush. Sometimes, when I thought about it, I felt sad that I liked someone but couldn't have them, but those were random, scattered moments. My general feeling was I had a good friend, and I valued that friendship very much. In that time, I dated another guy for about one and a half year, and I was quite into him. My friend was still in the scene but I never felt any conflict. It felt like my feelings for him had disappeared, which was relieving. Later, I broke up with my (now ex) boyfriend for different reasons. It was a hard time for me and my friend helped a lot. We became even closer. During that time, I felt like I was starting to re-crush (or whatever the shit you call this) on him. Still didn't say anything, though.**

**Afterwards, my friend and I drifted apart. I did want to hold on at first, but some things you just can't control. I was heartbroken for a few months- for the friendship? For the crush? Who knows? 'Cause I didn't. Then I moved on with my life. I didn't think about him much, and the whole thing pretty much stopped mattering.**

**Then I met someone else. Fell in love. He makes me really, really happy and I just married him two months ago.**

**I have limited contact with my friend now and we still talk easily, but I don't dwell on thoughts of him and neither do I consider him an important person in my life any more.**

**Now, my point here is this: my friend and I went separate ways. I don't know what would happen if I had to work together with him every day- what kind of emotions and feelings I would have to deal with, push back, bury and make peace with. I don't know what kind of unbreakable bond we could form if we had saved each other's lives multiple times. I don't know what would happen if I thought I was saying my last words and he was the only one to listen.**

**Life is not black-and-white. Things get complicated. And it is precisely because I understand this that I can't hate JJ, her confession, and the s14 finale of Criminal Minds. Many people, thousands of fans screamed 'This made no sense' after the finale. To me, it made perfect sense.**

**I've followed all seasons of CM but I didn't start shipping Jeid until 12X21 (Green Light). When JJ goes to prison to bring Reid back and they hug, that scene single-handedly convinced me that there might be something here, it literally made me feel the chemistry between them (afterwards, I wrote a story called 'Taking You Home'). And since then, I've always seen JJ and Reid like I've written them in this story- a mere what-if, yes, but a very, very powerful what-if.**

**I don't have to justify what I write and why, not in a fanfiction site. But I still wanted to say this because I consider myself a pretty morally-upstanding person and I'm not okay with cheating in a relationship, physical or emotional. But, like I said, sometimes it's just not that simple and I can sympathize (AND sometimes it's also very much fictional so it's fine not to go batshit crazy about it).**

**For this story, I've got a lot of love from you, dear readers, in form of reviews and favorites; and for this, I am very, very grateful. Thank you so much. Your words and appreciation mean a lot to me. In fact, I get almost embarrassingly excited about them, but shhh! (I had to use Google translator for the Spanish reviews- English is my second language and I do kind of speak a third, but sadly, that's not Spanish). I've also got constructive criticism for this story which helped me better understand the POVs of those whom I don't agree with, so I'm thankful for that too; and I've got hate, which I glanced at and then never thought about afterwards, 'cause I don't waste my time with bullshit.**

**Dr. Reid is pretty much my all-time favorite TV character, so I think I'll write more stories about him. Until then.**


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